Closer
by aphpenmark
Summary: (Unrequited DenNor) Norway had always loved Denmark, and he always would. Even if it killed him, even if his affections were never returned, and even if it hurt more than it helped. He found himself utterly unable to stop loving him, after he started.


Most admired Denmark for his strength. Norway liked to think he was different, because he admired him for his softness, which was so rarely acknowledged. He saw the way his eyes crinkled up when he laughed, and the way he looked tired and worn down in the early morning. He saw Denmark more than everyone else did, he knew it. Anyone could claim to feel the infection of his laugh and his smile, but only Norway could say he felt the feeling spreading throughout his being and filling him to the brim, crushing his delicate heart beneath its weight.

Sometimes, he thought he might ought not to get so close. That perhaps it wasn't in his best interest to become so invested in the way his chest rose and fell, and the way he said his name. He was only digging himself in deeper and deeper, and soon enough, he was trapped. But he didn't regret it ever. He couldn't, because it was still a trap filled with him. Even if it wasn't in the way he may have wished it to be. He could still observe and wish and hope and by god if he ever stopped then his heart must have finally ceased beating because he had promised himself that with every waking breath he would chase him.

Most assumed it was the other way around. But Denmark chased brotherhood and kinship, not closeness and feeling and touch as he did.

Of course, it was never the kind of touch you would assume it to be when it involved Denmark. It was in the most gentle way he could imagine it. Fingertips brushing against one another as they rested on the couch in the sun, and his face rested against Denmark's chest, ears straining to hear his gentle heartbeat, hiding deep down inside away from him. He wanted to pull him close and to feel the callouses that had covered his skin over rough years and endless battles. He wanted to feel that armor he had built up, and tear it back down. Feel the soft skin behind his ears, kiss the weak spots in the crook of his neck. He wanted to be the one to remind him what a gentle touch felt like; the kind they had shown each other as children with sweet kisses to cheeks before bed each night, when they were too young to appreciate or remember them.

But of course life was not perfect. Norway was not meant to be that person for Denmark. His lips were brittle and chapped, and they could never kiss him as softly as he would like them to. His own armor had formed over the years, and he knew Denmark didn't feel the need to try to look beyond it. They were both scarred and hurt from years past, and two broken puzzle pieces never could fit together.

As if it stopped him from trying.

He knew he could never, he would always continue to try and force his jagged edges against Denmark's and hope somehow they may sand each other away until they were back to normal, as innocent and gentle as the children they once were. But jagged edges against jagged edges only could ever scrape out new corners and pieces to scrape oneself against. They would hurt each other until they were bleeding and broken.

Not that Denmark ever wanted to even try. Norway wasn't worth it, and he knew it. He had asked. Back when the world was settling into a quiet familiarity, he had ventured the question.

"Do you think you could ever come to love me?"

Denmark had stared at him. That was all he dared do, he supposed, expected a little laugh or some indication that it was a clever joke, but he could never say it was. As soon as it became apparent that there was no taking the words back, he answered him, his voice far quieter than he ever thought it could go.

"I love you now. We're brothers, Norway."

The look on his face, tense and worried, explained the rest. Only brothers. That was all they could be. As brothers, Norway was allowed a small smile and nod in response, and he could continue to dance around Denmark's edges, as caution signs flickered in and out of view from the Dane's eyes, forcing him farther and farther away.

Denmark never got too close after that. He couldn't allow any scrapes or scratches, allow any weak spots to be shown. He couldn't give Norway the hope. He would address them all, in one big "I love you guys!" when he was happy, and he would share his bright smile with them all. But there was no private 'I love you' for him. No secret smiles only he was allowed to see.

He still looked. He still hoped, and searched those other smiles, for any indication that one may be hiding, just waiting to be noticed.

"I love you, Mathias."

He could tell him. He could say it every day and every night, and he could tell all the others who cared to listen. But there was no response. Denmark never ventured close enough to hear it, anyways.


End file.
